


His Weakness

by Milotzi



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Age Difference, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Monster in the Making
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 11:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18590470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milotzi/pseuds/Milotzi
Summary: Zelda Spellman proves to be Faustus Blackwood's touchstone.





	His Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> So, this happened instead of my next chapter of _Consequences_. (Sorry.) 
> 
> Set before S2 E3. All of S2 is taken as having happened or going to happen. 
> 
> The main idea came to me because of Miranda Otto's beautiful voice and the choice of Do-Re-Mi as the first song Zelda chooses for practice with the Church choir, with Faustus looking on.

Faustus Blackwood knows his imperfections as a priest and as a warlock. Lust for power (the Dark Lord willing), thirst for Satanic knowledge, a firm will to exterminate weakness among the damned and an appropriate craving for carnal pleasures are the strengths upon which the Church of Night was built, and they are the bedrock of his own personality. His occasional lack of self-control and a certain blindness to any view but his own, on the other hand, are weaknesses he has fought throughout his adult life. Disappointingly, none of the six wives he survived were the helpmeets in this (or any other) respect that he had expected them to be when he married them. Constance at least bore him the son and heir he had been waiting for so long but otherwise she proved to be a sore disappointment, not the least because of her lack of understanding of his needs as a warlock. And her untimely demise, of course. _Praise Satan_ for letting the nuisance of that Spellman brat come with the pleasure of an aunt who properly understood how to serve her Church and her High Priest. 

His mind has just taken him to this thought, when he hears something that makes him stop in his tracks. Half shaved, he only hesitates for a moment before he stands up to indulge in what is his most shameful pleasure.

It is so terrible a flaw in a High Priest, especially in one who will bring back the dark glory of the past, that he has never spoken of it to anyone and hardly ever allows himself to think about it. He can, however, never not indulge in it. Whenever this happens, his profound weakness as a priest and warlock is exposed to himself.Thus his pleasure is always bound up with self-loathing. And yet it also always leads to utter exultation. 

Faustus has not yet decided whether there will be a way to harness the pure energy of these moments to his evil purpose and Satan's greater glory. 

Most days, his innate sense of entitlement makes him believe evil will win. 

If not, it'll be the Spellmans’ fault, not his. 

***

As a younger warlock, Faustus had great hopes for the talent and sheer brilliance of the Spellman family strengthening the declining institution of the Church. He had greatly enjoyed mentoring young Edward. Once he himself would become High Priest, as was his due as the incumbent's son in law, his young acolyte would be even more useful to him. But matters did not work out that way. 

***

Innocence wasn't something the witching world held in high esteem except as something that the Dark Lord enjoyed seeing debauched as soon as possible after a witch had signed the _Grimoire_. And as often and in as many deliciously evil ways as possible. Young Zelda Spellman had always given the impression that butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, until, now and then, suddenly, gloriously, she showed her true, deliciously deviant nature. Her Eve interacting buck naked with the snake in the old Morgenstar school play was a sight to behold. His then father-in-law had nearly died of an apoplectic fit there and then. What had impressed Faustus even more than her quite literal interpretation of the scriptures was her daring defence of the theological foundation of her actions before the Council. She was still not wearing a stitch more than the plaid his wife had forced on her. Wasn't it the False God's lies that had turned nudity into something shameful, she had argued, her head held high and her upright nipples clearly showing under the fabric. What a glorious sight. Even though her knowledge of the unholy scriptures was somewhat patchy, her stance showed that Zelda Spellman was capable of applying a mind that was deserving of being tended and grown. He was surely not the only warlock present who, while supporting the stern admonishment she received, secretly thought she was showing a capacity for passion that promised much for future rites and rituals. 

Of course, defiling an untouched Zelda was out of the question, as tempting as her milky white skin, ginger hair and pouting lips, indeed, her every look and movement were to any full-blooded male. Not because he had any fundamental moral qualms about initiating a virgin pupil to the more delightful aspects of their cult, on the contrary. However, for the son-in-law and presumptive successor to the High Priest, too much attention paid to the children of his father in-law's deposed predecessor beyond the purely pedagogical and spiritual was politically unsound. Alas. 

Others weren't as wise. Faustus felt obliged to help keep the Spellman name free from scandal, in his former mentee's absence, and found himself extricating Young Zelda from a number of scrapes that had started as a dare and nearly ended the teaching careers of some promising young warlocks. Finally, he asked his wife to keep an eye on Zelda and on her idiot of a sister, and quietly steer them towards such safe occupations as reading the unholy scriptures, cooking, baking, midwifery and singing in the choir. As it turned out, neither the sisters nor Edward showed any gratitude whatsoever. 

***

When first his wife, and then his father-in-law died, Faustus had realized how much his chances of succeeding had been linked to that family connection, now gone. He wrote to Edward to ask him to return and fully expected his support against his opponents. Instead Edward took over the helm himself, a young reformer, freshly returned from Rome and carrying the unholy blessing of the anti-pope, indeed of Satan himself. 

Faustus bided his time. Maybe, at least, he could hold on to his position as a leading member of the council. 

He began signalling his interest. Zelda seemed more than willing to discuss scriptures with her brother's former mentor. She had grown into an even more beautiful young woman. When she sang Freya's Song during that year's _Feast of Feasts_ , she looked directly into his eyes as she sang of the Dark Lord and what he was to behold. Truly, her clear voice was like the Sirens’ sweet invitation to Ulysses, the voice used by the witches of the sea to draw mortals to its deepest depths. For him, this more than compensated for the deplorable fact that, for the first time in their coven’s history, the goddess was represented by a sumptuous red velvet cake and not a nubile witch. As they both, among the many, joined the crowd to grab a lump of the Queen, he felt Zelda's hand touch his, as if by accident, and when she took a step back from the crowd and whispered his name, as if in apology, she briefly pressed herself against him, long enough to cause his prick to harden. Before she had arrived back on her seat on the dais, she had smiled at him, swallowed her cake, and let her tongue slowly and deliberately find and lick the leftover cream and crumbs in the corners of her mouth. 

When he had asked for her hand in marriage, Edward hadn't only berated him, he had laughed out loud. Who did Faustus think he was? And did he seriously think brilliant and beautiful Zelda was destined to waste her potential by becoming the fourth wife of a third-rate power hungry hanger-on who didn't have the guts to come down on either side of the reform versus tradition schism that was threatening the future of their coven? So what if she had flirted with him. She was young and enjoying her powers. Nay, nay, thrice nay. 

***

Faustus fled to Rome, without even bothering to say goodbye to anyone. He was going to show that hypocrite what first rate scholar he was and that two could play the Roman power game. 

He wrote tome upon tome. His pastoral _Epistolae Romanae Ad Maleficas Maleficosque Vallis Viridis_ became a much read companion piece to the unholy scriptures among traditionalists all over the globe. 

Zelda bound her copy with her unholy Bible that she read every night, but hid the added thickness with a spell. Her brother had, of course, not approved of the publication, and Zelda was quite happy in her supportive role as sister to the High Priest. Still, she loved the beautiful prose of the Unholy Father's letters. In one letter, he extolled the profane power of the singing voice, with lyrics and chords of sung curses, spells and anti-hymns. Zelda couldn't but feel this letter, especially, was talking directly to her. She tried to imagine them read out in Father Blackwood's smooth voice. Once she had dreamt of this voice praising her skills and knowledge as he elevated her above other witches, just as Morningstar had elevated Lilith, to be by his side. This had proved to be a false dream, as she now understood. If being in Rome and being married to an Italian witch was what was needed to make him the world's foremost Conservative Satanic theological voice, so be it. There were plenty of warlocks and demons that were pleasurable enough company. 

Sometimes, when Edward was away and she had made quite sure Hilda was fast asleep, Zelda sat by the window and sang Faustus's Lupercalian hymns to the Moon. 

***

Decades passed until they met again, quite by chance, on the streets of the Unholy City.

Zelda had accompanied her brother to Rome before. Edward and Faustus, as two of the most eminent theologians of the Satanic churches, were on speaking terms again. Zelda, however, had never seen Father Blackwood in the crowd in any of the festive occasions she as a female had been allowed to attend. 

This time she came along more for the shopping than because she took an active interest in the issues to be discussed by the Unholy Conclave. She did not even consider whether or not Father Blackwood would take part in the assembly. She had thought she might, if she felt like it, try to pervert one of the seminarists of the False God's church that the Unholy City abounded with but she didn't much care one way or another. She did, however, have her heart set on at least one new pair of extremely high heels. 

“Why not indulge yourself and buy both pairs?” a smooth voice whispered in her ear, as she stood there pondering and holding a different shoe in each hand. 

Zelda jumped, and, with a small shriek of surprise, took a step backwards. Her heart began pounding as she briefly felt his body against her and, in a flash, realized who it was. 

“I beg your pardon, I did not mean to frighten you, Miss Spellman, but I thought you might appreciate some advice from an old friend. Self-indulgence, if appropriately given in to, is after all, one of the seven unholy virtues. And both pairs are bound to look charming when you hopefully will join the Conclave's festivities tonight. ” 

He bowed in front of her, partly to retrieve a shoe she had dropped, and partly to indicate an apology. 

Zelda looked at the warlock, who didn't seem to have aged a day since she last set eyes on him, all those years ago. If anything, he looked younger, and more virile. It took her a moment longer than she liked to regain her composure. 

“Indeed, Father,” she took the shoe from him and put it back on the rack outside the tiny shoe shop, “your advice on the upcoming festivities is much appreciated. Although,” she smiled one of her sweetest smiles, "Your Excellency does not seem to bring the same expertise to the fashion side of ladies’ shoes as you do on their spiritual dimension. They are nice enough for mortals but what I am looking for are killer stilettos. If I can't find the ones I have in mind, I'd rather go without. ”

His lips twitched. “I believe, Sister Zelda, not so long ago, you made a very convincing argument for going without, when you extolled the superior nature of complete nudity as opposed to the False God's puritanical prejudices.”

She smiled again. “Believe me, Father, my views on that have evolved. As we grow older and wiser, the use of clothes to tease and arouse the senses becomes so much clearer to us, doesn't it? How special would nudity under the Lupercalian moon be, if it was an everyday occurance instead of one we approach slowly, layer by layer?” She lightly touched his high-collared, buttoned-up shirt and wound her finger round the knot in his tie. 

Faustus responded by firmly placing a hand over hers. “You shouldn't be teasing a priest of the Unholy Church so, Miss Spellman, especially one whose wife has just gone on a visit to her family and who may feel a bit abandoned. Even if he has known you long enough to understand it is your way and you mean no disrespect, it is unseemly. He might get the wrong idea.” He paused, placing a finger on her lips as she was starting to protest, “Unless he is getting the right idea? We are, after all, approaching the night of the highest feast of this city. One that gets our blood pumping in ways that our other more staid traditions simply do not.“

And Faustus smiled his most winning smile, while his eyes remained serious and melancholy. 

***

That night, in the Forest of Massimina, Zelda Spellman and Faustus Blackwood worked their way to nudity, button by button, through layers and layery of clothing, appreciated each bit of skin that emerged as it emerged until the full glory of their naked bodies was revealed. Their carnal pleasures were varied and manifold. Zelda learnt that the most delicious use an experienced warlock could find for his silver tongue was not the sweet nothings he was whispering into her ears, welcome as they were, but whatever exactly he was doing to her between her legs. Faustus learnt to appreciate the exquisite suffering and feelings of ecstacy the stiletto heels on the feet of a skillful and adventurous witch could evoke. 

Later, under the bright Lupercalian moon, a witch was heard singing the most unholy of seasonal hymns as she rode the warlock who had published them in a pastoral letter into blissful oblivion. 

***

Much water has flown under the Tiber and Sweetwater bridges since then. Neither Zelda nor Faustus remember much of that night in Rome, except a general vague sense of pleasure. Whatever their intentions at the time had been towards each other, their lives took them in different directions. Much has happened and is still happening, in the fates of the Spellman and Blackwood families, in their Church, their coven and in who they have become, the mother and father figures and opposing forces in an unholy drama that each still erroneously believes they can shape and bend to their will. 

The morning that finds Faustus so uncharacteristically self-reflexive as he shaves until he is interrupted belongs to the time when they aren't even yet engaged, and Zelda has put a stop to any unholy confessions, flagellations or couplings of any sort until Faustus figures out that he needs a seventh wife and that that wife should be her. She may relax her rules a little for the Lupercalia. She has a soft spot for the carnal pleasures of that festival. 

At this moment in time she is holding her night son, who has had a colicky night and is in need of comfort. She is standing by the window, her hair gloriously lit into a bright flame-like colour by the morning light. In her clear, beautiful voice she sings him a simple children's song, the kind of reassuring melody, with simple words and full of sentiment, sung by mothers, witch or mortal, to their babes all over the globe. 

For Zelda, there is nothing but the babe and the song. She is utterly unaware of the warlock leaning against the doorframe, deeply entranced by what he sees and hears. 

It is the time of day when the bell of Our Lady of Greendale is rung for the morning Angelus but Zelda, completely focused on her night son's well-being, is oblivious to its sound.

Faustus is not. 

Later he will tell himself that what he feels is pride, pride in his heir, and pride in the beautiful voice of the beautiful witch who is serving him and thus the Dark Lord. Later he will lie to himself. He will not succeed. 

However, now is not later, and the tolling of the bell increases Faustus's deep sense of shame as he gives in to the moment.

He watches and listens. 

A babe is being held by a figure of light, her clear voice is rising above the distant sound of the bell, rising to the heavens above, in praise and exultation of all that is good and innocent. 

_Et postquam audivit vocem, cognovit quod erat vox angeli._

He weeps. 

After the moment has passed, he will make sure no traces of any tears are visible, especially not to Zelda. 

He will do anything to eradicate his shame. 

He will do anything to have those moments of exultation again. 

He will take revenge for having been duped into having these moments by a treacherous Spellman whore. 

***

Zelda, who takes the view that no one is truly innocent, who has served the Dark Lord's will all her life, and who will get married for the position it will give her, would probably call Faustus a sentimental fool rather than despise him for his tears. She will come to despise him for other matters. Currently, however, she is still quite fond of him, and hopes that their very enjoyable sexual relations can be taken up again sooner rather than later.

Nothing of this crosses her mind in that particular moment in time. As the babe falls asleep in her arms and she continues to sing to the rising sun, all of Zelda is in her voice. As she sings, it is her who is climbing the heavens, higher and higher into the wide open space above, in praise and exultation of all that is good and innocent. 

***

In his dark doorway, Faustus wishes this moment would never pass.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for my poor Latin  
> (1)  
>  _Epistolae Romanae Ad Maleficas Maleficosque Vallis Viridis_  
>  Roman letters to the witches and wizards of Greendale.  
> (2)  
>  _Et postquam audivit vocem, cognovit quod erat vox angeli._  
>  I adapted this sentence from The Trials of Jeanne of Arc. If I didn't mess it up, it's supposed to mean something like _After he had heard the voice, he recognized it was the voice of an angel._
> 
> Finally, Goethe's Faust has been a very obvious influence.


End file.
